DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN THE HOLLOWS!

Okay, this occurs after Trouble on Reserve, and contains spoilers. This fanfic doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the little Rachel/Trent short story, accept that it inspired Al's weekly teaching session. This is a strictly Ral fanfic. You've been warned!

Enjoy:)

Rachel's POV

"Student," my demon teacher, Algaliarept, bellowed in his usual English accent. "Watch what you're doing!"

I yelped when his gloved-fingers pinched my elbow, which had been a hair away from knocking over a bottled curse meant to incinerate anything it touched. That the little glass bottle containing it seemed to be immune was beyond me. Today's lesson consisted of me twisting a curse that was a ball of fire hotter than the sun and turned to dust whatever - or, whomever - the hell it's aimed at. I didn't want to have such a powerful curse inside of me just ready to be unleashed on some poor bastard, but Al doesn't give a damn of my petty, retarded feelings. His words.

A little over a week ago, while I was working a crap-run of filling in for Quen as Trent's security, Rynn Cormel had set two assassins on my ass. Well, I think it was Cormel. Who else would send vampire assassins to kill me? And it was me they were after, not Trent as I had thought at first. But that was what stomped me. That vampire was going to kill me, and Cormel needs me alive so I can save his soul, or find it, whatever. So, why would he kill me?

Nevertheless, Al found out two days later while he was in my head, bringing the tulpa I had created out of my head, and said that he was going to spend our next session together having me twist curse after curse of things that would save me should I be attacked again. It was either that, or I stayed with him, so I tried not to complain.

Yanking my arm out of his hard grip, I crossed my arms and snapped, "I wasn't going to knock it over."

"And I'm supposed to believe that, dove?" he said with a sarcastic slur.

"Yes, you are."

Al huffed and turned his back on me to mess with the other curses he had me twist. Since I got here five hours ago, I swear he'd been looking for excuses to bitch me. "Don't do that!" "Don't mix it until you've added the ashes!" "Hold that gently!" I could tell he was pissed at someone else and was taking it out on me simply because I was the one around he could pester at. I was convenient. It grated on me, and I had confronted him about it, but he simply snarled at me and claimed that the only bother he had was me.

Well, I thought, the feeling was mutual.

I shook my head and went back to writing the stupid inscription Al had me copying. When I was done, I didn't even bother to ask him if it was passable. It looked just fine to me. Reaching over to grab the mixture of cremation ashes, candle shavings, salt, and charcoal dust, I froze when I felt Al's bare hand touch the small of my back that my reaching over had exposed.

"Careful, my itchy witch," he breathed right into my freaking ear.

I gulped, and I knew he had heard as he chuckled, his breath warming my neck. I placed my hands flat on the table, a bit annoyed and scared. "I know Newt withdrew her threat to kill you if I slept with you, but that doesn't mean we are going to start having sex." I whispered between my teeth, trying to go for a vehement tone, and failing, instead sounding like I was unsure. Damn it. Weeks back since Newt gave Al the go ahead to screw me, he has been . . . rubbing me the wrong way. Getting too close to comfort, wiping non-existent this and that from my lips, brushing up against me, etc.

"You're no fun to play with," Al sighed, and pushed away from me. I exhaled in relief, my stiff shoulders relaxing.

I pulled my my shirt straight as he moved his attention from making me uncomfortable and inspected my work so far. He mmm'd that infuriating mmm that teachers tended to make when they catch you making a mistake. "What?" I asked, doing my best to keep the annoyance out of my voice, but a hint slipped through.

His red-goat eyes held my normal green eyes, and said, "You misspelled flagro, Rachel."

To be on fire, I silently translated, then snapped, "Let me see."

Grinning like he enjoyed making me look like an idiot, he handed the paper to me. I snatched it out of his grasp and looked for myself. My cheeks flared up in chagrin when I saw I had indeed misspelled flagro. Damn it. I'd just given him another reason to bitch at me.

"This is why you have me approve everything you do before you complete a curse," he criticized. "If you'd burnt this and then tossed the ashes into that mix, you'd have either exploded yourself, or my kitchen!"

Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the blank sheet of paper Al was handing over to me. I set it down and picked up the ugly, naked-woman-withering-in-pain knife. I ran the sharp blade over the already-there cut that had stopped bleeding. I'd made that for my, ah, other inscription. Blood pooled anew, and grimacing at the demon watching me, I gripped the feather pen and dipped it into my personal ink. I was three words in re-writing the whole damn inscription when Al grunted. "We wouldn't want another incident like Krathion, would we, itchy witch?"

Ire spiked high in me, and I pointed my throbbing, bleeding finger at him. "That wasn't my fault!"

He leaned over the black marble counter, his palm flat against the dark surface. "It was you bloody fault and you know it."

"Was not," I raged, not caring that I sounded like a five-year-old. "You left me alone with Krathion! If you'd told me that it was a soul in the first place, none of it would have ever happened!" Before I could take a calming breath, a fisted white glove swung my way, and everything went dark.